


Hold the Line

by Dickbutt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Every Protection Cliche, Gender Neutral, Greater Need Than Mine, Heroic RROD, Hold the Line, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Other, Protectorate, pinned down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickbutt/pseuds/Dickbutt
Summary: “We’re pinned, probably flanked, and Hanzo needs medical attention. No life-threatening injuries, but unconscious. We’re almost out of ammunition. I can…” You gulped down a lump in your throat, flexing your hand around your weapon. “I can provide cover until support arrives... but not long."
Worn and weary, you would fight to your last, and hopefully, take most of them down with you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at: [Dickbutt Writes Again](http://dickbutt-writes-again.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

“Hanzo, get up…! You have to get up! Oh shit, oh shit shit shit…”

Crouched behind cover, you desperately shook the man, calling his name. Your eye squinted against the blood trickling into it – or was it from? Prepositions were irrelevant, you decided, but the sting of the blood hardly mattered weighed against the prone form of the archer beside you. He was whole, wholly – hopefully – uninjured ( _Oh god,_ please _, don’t let him be hurt_ ), but definitely unconscious.

You knew going in that the mission would be a hellstorm, but you never in all horrific possibilities expected Hanzo to flee his sniper’s perch – overwhelmed , probably. Talon wasn’t stupid (entirely), they knew who their threats were and it made sense to go after Hanzo, especially after he’d launched his Dragons into their numbers twice already. Still, to see him _fleeing_ …

The fight had been going on for hours, it wore on everyone, you knew, but his successive uses of his dragons had to have taken a severe toll on him. It was impressive, initially, awe inspiring even; you had never seen his dragons for yourself before, after all. But when he called upon the spirit dragons for a third time that night, to dispatch the attackers swarming the both of you, once the fearsome roars had faded and the iridescent blue forms twined into the distance, Hanzo had collapsed and had not woken up since.

That he was alive was an immediate relief, it was the first thing you had checked after all, but nothing you seemed to do would rouse him back into consciousness. And with the enemy still pressing down on all sides, there was no way you could move him to a safer position without putting both of you at even more risk. After you made sure he was out of any direct line of fire, you hunkered down and assessed your situation.

Two walls protected you, likely the remains of a fallen building, and a lower wall at your back provided significantly less cover; you would have to hope they didn’t flank. You had no long range projectiles, and your weapon’s last clip was almost spent; you had maybe 12 shots left, if you were lucky. Your med kit was absent. Distantly, you remembered passing it off to another member of the team, who had needed it much more than you at the moment, but now all you could do was wish you had kept _something_ to get the blood out of your eyes. You settled for wiping your sleeve across your face, wincing when the contact stung your skin.

Hanzo’s bow – Storm Bow- lay exactly where he had dropped it when he passed out; his quiver still possessed nine arrows – three scatter and the rest regular. You filed the information away for Emergencies Only, since you doubted the archer would very much appreciate you touching his weapon. He seemed the sort.

You tested your communicator, but the little that came through was garbled and half-masked by gunfire. It was worth an attempt anyway. You gave your callsign and relative location.

“We’re pinned, probably flanked, and Hanzo needs medical attention. No life-threatening injuries, but unconscious. We’re almost out of ammunition. I can…” You gulped down a lump in your throat, flexing your hand around your weapon. “I can provide cover until support arrives, but not long. Please, hurry!”

Several tense seconds passed as you waited for some form of confirmation. When nothing came you repeated the message, glancing rapidly from Hanzo, to your low cover, to your almost-spent weapon. The sound of weapon fire came nearer and you shook.

“Can anyone hear me?!” You desperately verified your callsign, hoping against all odds that the static was only on your end. “Hanzo is down and we need evac! Please, if you hear this, send backup! We can’t -!”

You gave a startled yell, missing the first shot toward the enemy out of nerves; you cursed the waste of limited resources before making good on the second shot. Another came into your sights and one shot was enough to down them. You cursed. It was no wonder they knew where you were, the dragons had been great, big –albeit terrifying – flares, signifying your approximate location. (You didn’t want to admit your shouting hadn’t helped either. You couldn’t come apart now.)

Your nerves were quickly fraying, but you attempted to direct the nervous energy into focus, into downing your attackers with ruthless efficiency. And you did, not a bullet wasted beyond the first. But as you slowly crept defensively toward the still-unconscious Hanzo, the hollow _click_ of your empty magazine sent a chill through your veins.

You did the worst thing you could do – you panicked.

You were lucky. The unloaded gun made forceful contact with the face of your would-be assailant, distracting them long enough for you to tackle them to the ground. You barely registered a hot pain as you beat them into unconsciousness with your spent weapon. When your shaking hands dropped the weapon, you barely glanced at what you’d done before searching the body for any useable weaponry – searching all of them.  

You didn’t find much of use, not without the risk of leaving cover, of leaving Hanzo behind. You took inventory again and hunkered down again with the stolen weapons. It lasted a while, but nowhere near long enough. You never received any answer on your com, only static, though you made three more calls for help – for evac – desperate and exhausted. And like sharks smelling blood, the enemy kept coming, knowing you had your back to the wall; that you were running down, running out of options, running out of time.

You glanced at Storm Bow, still in the same spot its master had dropped it, then at the slow rise and fall of Hanzo’s chest ( _Uninjured – unsafe! – need to hold out_ ), then back at the fallen weapon. You cursed, wiped your eyes.

The grip of the weapon was unfamiliar, specialized, made for different hands than your own. You were hardly a practiced archer, but you’d touched a bow before. He’d shown you how his scatter arrows worked once before; you could put it into practice with determination.

Determination was about all you had left.

You had to squint to aim properly. Your eyes were weary and your nerves shot, and you overcompensated your grip to stop the shaking of your hands. Second only to the thought of _protect Hanzo_ that beat with your pulse was the hope that he’d forgive you for using his weapon when _when_ he woke. You grit your teeth, released the mechanism on the arrow, and let loose. The bolt whistled into the enemy lines, burst into pieces, and sent the enemy screaming in confusion. A missed mark, but it would have to be enough.

Your com whined desperately into your ear, causing you to flinch and miss your mark a second time, to your chagrin. If it was a long-awaited response or further technical difficulty, in the moment, you didn’t care to know, had no way to find out. Numbers were thinned, but still dead-set on reaching your location. Worn and weary, you would fight to your last, and hopefully, take most of them down with you.

You watched them flee and fall to another scatter arrow into their midst. Maybe they thought Hanzo was still up and fighting. If so, it would buy you time. The third did nothing, nearly missed entirely, and you had to stamp down the burn of frustration to maintain your focus.

There was no way to fight preventatively any longer; you’d have to wait the rest out. Your legs nearly gave out as you eased to the ground, Storm Bow still primed with a nocked arrow. Your head rolled back to thump gently against the wall and briefly, you allowed yourself to feel the aches waiting to overtake you. A hiss squeezed past your clenched teeth. How long had you been fighting now?  And how long had it been so hard to see?

Minutes passed, feeling more like hours as time dragged on. The brave were few, thankfully, and met their ends with an arrow to the throat or chest. One took a little too long to die and you did your best to block out their damp, rattling breaths.

Your heart sunk when you felt for another arrow and it was your last. Footsteps were approaching and you didn’t have time to scavenge for more weaponry; you’d have to make the final arrow count. You looked back at Hanzo again, and your chest ached. You breathed out an unheard apology just as the intruder rounded the corner.

With a scream you let loose the final arrow, only to receive a startled – familiar – yelp in response.

“Woah, woah, woah there, darlin’! S’just me! No need to take my head off for it!”

Your arms shook from both nerves and exertion as you lowered Storm Bow and saw McCree removing his hat to inspect the arrow that had pierced it clean through. He let out a low whistle.

“Damn close shot, huh? Didn’t know you could use that thing.”

You flexed your aching hands and let out a wry laugh. “Didn’t know I could either.”

The gunslinger gave you a laugh in response, tugging the arrow loose from his favored headwear, but it was worn at the edges; the battle had taken a toll on him as well, it seemed, but you were thankful he was there. You tried to ignore the flash of worry across his face as he assessed your condition. Thankfully, he quickly turned his attention toward Hanzo, who had hardly stirred the entire time.

“Mission’s a success, we’ve got Talon pushed back and the area secure. Genji and Reinhardt are clearing out the stragglers and we’ve got Mercy waitin’ on the dropship.” He leaned down to lift Hanzo’s body, which was little more than dead weight in his state. “Help me with loverboy here, won’t ya?”

You wanted to laugh at the nickname, but the first hitching breath of the motion stung. You breathed – in, out, rattling, but deep.

“…Yeah.”

Storm Bow slung over one arm, you assisted McCree in shouldering Hanzo with the other. If he bore most of the archer’s weight (or could tell you were unable to bear any) he never gave any indication. Your jaw ached from clenching your teeth and your gait was uneven. When you made it to the ship, you nearly gave in to your desire to collapse, but you had to see that Hanzo got to Mercy.

Some of the team was already aboard the ship, awaiting departure since the mission was complete, dressing wounds and resting from the laborious battle. But you and McCree made straight for Mercy, who was ready and waiting for your arrival. She assisted McCree in lowering Hanzo onto one of the benches by the wall, and you teetered with the loss of his weight. Hands sweating, you set Storm Bow nearby, returning the weapon to its owner.

Mercy exclaimed your name.

“ _Mein gott!_ Let me grab my supplies, so I can -” She shot a sideways glance at McCree. “Why didn’t you say it was this bad?”

McCree shrugged helplessly; you brushed off the blonde’s concern as she neared you.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, just… Look at Hanzo first, he hasn’t woken up and I –“

“How is your pain? Can you still see out of- ”

“Angela,” you pleaded, trying and failing to back away, only succeeding in further disorienting yourself. In spite of this, your temper climbed. “I don’t care. I want to know if Hanzo’s going to be okay.”

“Hanzo is _fine_ , I need to look at your-“

You bristled, breath coming out harsher in between your words. “How in the hell do you know he’s fine if you haven’t even _seen_ him, _Doc_?”

The room tilted and your eyes squeezed shut; there were hands on your back, which you struggled to pull away from. Everything began to feel overwhelming.

“Darlin’, you need’ta calm down, we’ll look at Hanzo in a sec, you’re really-”

You batted sluggishly at their fretting hands, eyes locked on the unconscious archer laying on the bench. _Safe, safe, safe._ But your body refused to wind down from the adrenaline, and your heart rate continued to climb. Maybe they were right. Maybe -

You never recalled falling unconscious.

 

When you woke in the medbay – a fresh bandage over your eye – you found out: There was a single bullet between your ribs, not deep enough to do any lasting damage, but the fatigue, the blood loss, crept up quietly until you were incapacitated. You had held your point for over an hour. Mercy said she was astounded you had held out so long with such an injury, postulated it could have happened before you even made your stand. McCree called you a ‘tough sonovabitch.’ You just wanted to sleep more.

So you did.

Mercy, when you woke again, said the damage to your eye wasn’t permanent, but you were lucky you still had your sight. (You seemed lucky for a lot of things). It would be sensitive, maybe weaker for a while, just put your drops in, stay out of direct sunlight for long periods, doctor’s orders, etcetera etcetera. The healer was a mother hen, and though you couldn’t chase her off, you could rest your eyes, feign sleep when it wouldn’t come, give in to your bone-deep exhaustion.

_Safe, safe, safe…_

Your team visited in your moments of wakefulness, lauding your bravery and endurance, giving well wishes and affection, and often found themselves being shooed out by Mercy when the excitement proved too much. It only encouraged them to visit in smaller groups, much more manageable, though Reinhardt still proved boisterous enough to make up for that. You took their well-meaning gestures in stride, but something remained coiled within you – shame, perhaps? Disappointment? Unidentifiable, but unpleasant. You wondered how Hanzo was.

On the second day, Genji carried news of his brother – uninjured, as was hoped, but he hadn’t woken up until a few hours before. Hanzo was informed about what had happened, and though Genji did not divulge his brother’s reaction, your ears still burned with heat in remembering. You asked quietly if Hanzo was upset, to Genji’s confusion; wondered even more quietly if that was the reason he had yet to turn up.

“You should see him when you’re well enough,” he offered, at the end of the visit, as though he’d read your mind. “You know how he is.”

And you did. Too private, too proud – the infirmary was no place to have the kind of talk that you needed to have, not with Mercy lurking around; not when just anybody could turn up in the middle of it, good intentions or no. You thanked him and he nodded, knowing.

On the third day, you left. Mercy hadn’t cleared you, but you were becoming stir-crazy sitting around in a bed, injuries be damned. Walking around the base wasn’t going to kill you, after all.

And you had a goal in mind, anyway.

A technical goal, at least. Even if you didn’t run into him – he would be found when he wanted to be found – you would at least have some time out of the sterile white of the medbay and away from the static inside your head. Either way it was a win, you thought, as you scaled the stairs to one of the base’s rooftops with only a little difficulty. It was late enough in the evening that you were unlikely to be found so far out of the way by happenstance, so you made your way to the railing, where you could see a large portion of the base. And underneath the gradually darkening sky, it was almost… scenic. Definitely relaxing.

You tensed when you heard the door to the stairwell swing open. As luck would have it, you’d get to accomplish both of your goals after all.

He froze at the top of the stairs when he caught sight of you, and you found yourself in a similar state, hands gripped around the railing at the edge of the roof. You took mental inventory of your disheveled appearance, your bandaged eye and the distant ache of half-healed injuries. It was probably a bad idea, engaging him like this, but if the prior incident had taught you anything, it was that you had a tendency to make risky decisions. You offered him a smile and a lazily lifted hand in greeting, looking back toward the peaceful scene below.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

He cleared his throat, recovered from the seeming surprise of having run into you.

“You are… You are well, then.”

You shrugged the shoulder that ached the least.  “Well enough.”

There was an upward quirk to his lips, and he joined you at the railing. “Dr. Ziegler will not be pleased with you sneaking out on her watch.”

“She’ll be fine. I couldn’t take just… sitting there, anymore. Felt…” Your face scrunched up. “Helpless.”

You glanced over to see the archer’s eyes lingering on your bandaged face, and it brought up a sudden flare of self-consciousness. He shifted beside you.

“Are your injuries… Is there permanent damage?”

“Oh, my eye?” Your hand idly went to touch the bandage. “Yeah, no, Mercy says it’ll be fine in a few days, bandages off and everything.”

“That is good.”

“Yeah.”

A silence that fought to not be awkward slowly enveloped you and Hanzo. The sky grew darker as the last of the daylight faded beneath the horizon.

“Hey, uh. Um…” You coughed quietly, whispering a curse. “Uh, sorry, I don’t really know how else to bring this up, where it’s been bugging me but I just… I’m sorry, I guess. For what happened.”

You couldn’t quite decipher Hanzo’s expression as he regarded you with slightly narrowed eyes.

“You’re… apologizing?”

You faltered. “I, yeah, I… could have, _should_ have done a lot better. I endangered the both of us, made a lot of reckless decisions that you weren’t even _conscious_ for, shit, I used your _bow_. And-and I don’t understand why you’re not _mad,_ and it’s driving me nuts!”

“Why… would I be angry?”

The fact he wasn’t responding in the way you expected perplexed you, and you pushed the matter, growing upset.

“Because I’m this incompetent fuckup! You _should_ be angry-”

“ _No._ Do not presume to know my feelings on the matter.”

You flinched at his tone of voice, and he seemed to realize, looking properly abashed. Discomfort washed over you at your own behavior and you shrunk into yourself, wishing you could backpedal the conversation.

“I apologize. I wanted… I was trying to think of the right words to say for what you did.” He shook his head, more at himself than you, it seemed. “A ‘thank you’ is not sufficient.”

“No, you don’t have… It’s fine, I just… wanted to protect you.” The admission came with a heated face, and you could not meet his gaze. “You left cover, so I… came to help you, but…”

He gave a low chuckle, rich and deep, and it drew your eyes back to him. “Then it seems that we were of the same mind.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“I thought…” You swallowed, mind spinning with the implication. “I thought that you ran from cover because they had flushed you out.”

“I left cover because I saw them coming after you.”

You sat in stunned silence as Hanzo observed you cautiously, moving closer.

“I could not bear the thought of them harming you. But that you were hurt for my sake…” He lowered his eyes – a clenched fist, a furrowed brow – something that had your chest squeezing. “It is unforgivable.”

“I’d do it again.” His head shot up, and you were surprised to find yourself emboldened. “I would go through all of it if it meant keeping you safe.”

You thought about how stupid it sounded, once it was out of your mouth. Hanzo didn’t need protecting, and you had been the best of a bad situation. But the soft expression he wore spoke otherwise, and a nonsensical reflexive fear had you fighting to not recoil from the hand that reached for the side of your face. His eyes darted over your features, never settling, and as he neared you relaxed against the railing. But from there, he was like a string pulled taut, tense and unmoving; holding himself back.

You closed the distance. From the barest skim of your lips, it felt as though he was trying to retreat from the affection. At the last moment, however, he dove back in with abandon, crushing his mouth to yours while at the same time cradling your face, as though a harsher touch would shatter you. His thumb brushed the edge of the bandage that wrapped around your eye and he froze, pulling back from you with only some hesitance. You trapped his hand there with yours, to prevent him escaping, though in the end, you knew you’d never actually be able to stop him.

“I’m okay, Hanzo.”

His face took on a twist of emotion, the kind where he wasn’t sure if he should be more angry at himself or at something else, and he almost withdrew, but your hand around his grounded him in place.

“Yes, but you _almost_ –“

“ _You_ almost!” You cut in with a sigh; smiled despite it.  “Good thing we’ve got each other’s backs, yeah?”

His whole posture relaxed, coils of misplaced anger slowly unwinding from within him. He brushed his thumb along your cheek again, didn’t flinch at contact with the bandage.

“A good thing indeed.” He leaned into you, his forehead touching yours in a gesture that had your heart bursting. “My brave warrior.” 

“ _Endlich!_ There you are!”

Hanzo pulled away from you like he’d been burned, or perhaps more like a teenager getting caught doing something they shouldn’t be. You at least had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, but managed a sheepish wave at the healer, who looked none-too-pleased as she stomped up the stairs.

“Of course when I leave you unmonitored for a few hours you up and run off on me.”

“I just wanted to get out of my room for a minute, get some fresh air!”

She eyed both you and the archer beside you, who looked as though he’d rather be elsewhere, and crossed her arms.

“Uh-huh. You _do_ realize that you’re still recovering, yes?”

“Are you kidding, I’m _fine_!” The gesture you made with your arms pulled something unpleasant and you winced, allowing Mercy to level you with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look. “Listen, ignore that.”

“ _Unglaublich_.” She shook her head, but her expression softened, perhaps by defeat. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“You’re a peach, Angie.”

The door to the stairwell clicked shut behind her. You turned to Hanzo when she left, suddenly frowning when you saw how he seemed to withdraw into himself. You hesitated to extend your hand to him, wondering if he’d recoil. _Private, proud._ Right, right. He did not try to leave, but his posture was guarded, straight-backed and tense. You waited patiently, conversely open, hoping to coax him out of whatever headspace he’d wandered into. He eased just ever so slightly when your hand touched his arm, just a bare brush of fingertips against the skin. It made you smile.

“Escort me back, mister Shimada?”

The chuckle was short, but the warmth it provided immense. His hand brushed the back of yours.

“Gladly.”

And if he’d managed to hold your hand on the way back, well, you weren’t going to say anything.  


End file.
